


I'll Still Love You In The Morning

by ordinarylittleme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 11:05:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinarylittleme/pseuds/ordinarylittleme





	I'll Still Love You In The Morning

Oh, shit, Remus thinks, staring at the snoring boy in the bed next to his. He watches as Sirius’s chest steadily rises and falls, his breath smelling of whiskey.  
Something festers in the pit of Remus’s stomach, like butterflies and dragons and Hippogriffs all rampaging in his stomach and heightening the awareness of what he already knows: he loves him. The emotion rushes through his veins so forcefully that Remus wonders why he hasn’t split open yet.  
In a moment of insanity, Remus rushes forward to pluck the half-empty bottle from Sirius’s pale hand. He squints at it, images of Sirius drinking it flashing through his mind. He swallows the bitter liquid in one go, sputtering softly at the trail of fire blazing its way down his throat.  
“Moony?” Sirius mumbles sleepily, pushing himself into a seated position. “What’re you-”  
Remus goes quiet. What would he have said? The truth feels too much like bile rising in his dry throat.  
“How long was I out for?” Sirius chuckles. “I thought you’d be worried about getting kicked off the trip.”  
He was, but the feelings he has for this dark-haired boy makes everything else vanish. “You were out for a quarter of an hour,” he shrugs. “And I just wanted to try it, nothing else to do in this dump.” He gestures to the small room around them.  
Sirius motions to the bottle in Remus’s hand. The brunet murmurs a spell to make the whiskey reappear, then quietly hands it to him. Sirius gulps it down in one go like it’s water and cocks his head, the remnants of drunkenness and the whiskey flooding his bloodstream taking effect. “So what’s up?”  
Remus draws in a sharp breath and replies with “nothing” as Sirius stumbles across the room to sit beside him. He restrains himself from flinching at the proximity, uncomfortably aware to it. The stuffy air buzzes with tension that’s almost visible.  
“Here, have some,” Sirius says, offering Remus the bottle. When he sighs and shakes his head, Sirius laughs. “We won’t be caught, mate. Loosen up,” he says, pouring the liquid into the small cap for him.  
Remus takes the bottle instead, downing the remaining whiskey in three large swigs. He desperately holds back the coughs threatening to burst from his mouth, locking eyes with Sirius. He already knows what’ll happen next.  
Sirius crashes his lips to his, running his fingers through his hair desperately, like they’ll never have another chance again. (Who knows? They really might not, with the war.) Remus sighs into the other boy’s mouth, mind getting fuzzy with whiskey.  
“Tell me what’s wrong, Moony,” Sirius tries again.  
Remus avoids the question with another kiss, this one more feral, more animalistic. Because he can’t say what’s wrong. I love you so much and it consumes my every thought and movement and breath so I can’t do anything else? No, never in a million years-besides, it wouldn’t be true. This is all they are - drunken sloppiness for an hour or so, then awkward friendship and no eye contact. It’s never changed.  
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, and Sirius says, “Of course it does, it’s you,” but nothing else.  
So the brunet rolls his eyes and replies, “It’s late and you’re drunk, it’ll be fine in the morning when we’re both puking.”  
“I’ll still love you in the morning,” Sirius whispers and Remus prays that he didn’t imagine it. Instead he kisses the dark-haired boy and closes his eyes, dreading the morning.


End file.
